


Right Words, Right Time

by Gothbull



Category: Sherlock (BBC)
Genre: California, F/M, Ocean, One Off, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Suicidal Intentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 11:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6282061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothbull/pseuds/Gothbull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lately, I've been reading a lot of BBC Sherlock (Cumberbatch and Freeman) fanfiction stories. It's been very inspiring, and here's a small product of that. Tell me what you think!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Words, Right Time

**Author's Note:**

> I put "Suicidal Intentions" in the tags because it's not explicitly discussed or anything, but Samantha goes to the beach with a very specific agenda in mind.
> 
> I don't know if "implied" suicidal thoughts are a triggering thing, so let me know if I should have more of a warning on here. I'd hate to ruin someone's day.

Even in January, the cold air nipping at everyone's skin couldn't hold some back from getting in the water. For instance, Samantha was determined to walk through the waves. She had all the time in the world to venture to the beach since she returned to California, but she never utilized it that way. She spent majority of her days working wordlessly, and living silently. It had been tough. Friends, loved ones. She didn't have time for any of it.  
  
Patience; she didn't have patience for it.  
  
She was only patient for Sherlock. She was waiting for him to come back. It was a trick, she knew that. _It must have been for a good reason_ , she mused from time to time. He wouldn't have made it so theatrical if it was for himself. If he felt guilt. He wouldn't have leapt from Bart's and into the street. She just couldn't convince anyone else.  
  
John found his motivation a while ago. A woman walked into his life at _exactly_ the right time, and she was perfect for him. He loved her so much that he wasn't drowned in the pain and anguish of losing his best friend. He almost felt no pain. Almost. But he'd moved on.  
  
Samantha couldn't. Moving on meant admitting Sherlock was really dead, and she refused to believe such a blasphemous concept. One day, he would let everyone know. He'd explain why he had to lie, and perhaps he would even show remorse for the discontent he caused the people closest. If he felt inclined to share something so intimate and sentimental. Most likely not.  
  
The blonde dropped her bag on the dark, sandy rock, deeply breathing in the chilly west coast winter winds. It was a little after three in the afternoon, and though the sun was forcing pretty streaks of light through the cracks in the clouds, it was still a dark day. She paused, her toes wiggling in the sand, to think about how maybe it was meant to be a day full of overcast in order to mirror the dark shroud of her heart.  
  
She woke up that day, determined and motivated. For something awful. An end or a beginning. She didn't know which was most likely finishing off her day, but something was going to happen. She decided if the worst was to happen, she'd better have her last day at the beach while she still could. It was important.  
  
She glanced around the shore, seeing only a few people brave enough to dip into the water. There were some families, but not many. It wasn't as if that was the perfect day to tan, or even the healthiest weather to be enjoying a swim in the frosty waves. She'd found a place to leave her things a bit away from all those people, where large rocks were stacked and piled in the perfect way to climb. And as she stepped closer to the shoreline, her mind went quiet.  
  
Silence.  
  
Oh god, it had been so long since she had heard nothing at all. The total silence did not last long, but she savored it and made every second feel like an eternity. Soon, the shush-ing and the crashing and the roaring of the ocean swelled in volume, and all she heard was a symphony of chaos. She longed to have Sherlock standing beside her, swaying with his eyes shut, playing something haunting and slow and enveloping. The wind whistled around her ears and tugged at her short dress. Her hair whipped at her cheeks.  
  
For the most part, she hoped this time at her favorite place would be enough to quell the hurtful longing in her breast. Perhaps the rushing air and agressive shoves from the waves would be the high she needed to realize she wanted to continue experiencing being alive. Off to the side of the brain somewhere, there was a small pile of hope dedicated to this day being the end. Yeah, the hope for life was great and all, but there was a downward tug on her body, fighting to cripple her into giving up.  
  
Wouldn't it just be so much easier?  
  
_It was easier for him._  
  
The water reached her toes as a beat rocked her chest like it was a deliberate and defining beat, signalling the end of its blood pumping. Those five words punched her straight in the stomach, and she stared catatonic at the sea for a few moments before gasping.

Such a filthy thought, no wonder it knocked the wind out of her. Simply stupid. The man was not dead. That brilliant man did not waste his talents to creating such a glamorous suicide. Even he would have something to say about it if he found Samantha about to do the same thing.  
  
What was Samantha about to? She hadn't given it much thought, but pretty soon her calves were under the waterline, and she continued making slow strides. She had a swimsuit on under the little, black dress, but once her feet hit the water, she was compelled to keep moving forward. When would she stop? When it felt right, she supposed.  
  
She glared at the horizon. ( _'I'll take you to a great beach one day,' she laughed. 'You'll see. You'll love it.')_  
  
Once she was waist deep in the frigid ocean, she realized she was the only one out that far. She also noticed a few more people on the beach. She glanced at a couple kids, crouched around buckets, building sand castles. Samantha couldn't remember if she'd ever made sand castles before. Not a single time came to mind, and she vowed that if she lived through this day, she would return and try. Her hands trailed along the top of the water, enjoying the feeling on her fingers. The wet half of her body was numb from the cold and her dry half shivered from the biting air.  
  
If she got the rest of the way in the water, her whole body would get numb, and maybe not feeling anything would make this easier. This deliberate walk into the ocean thing. At least she was alone. For the most part. The strangers on the beach wouldn't even remember, or they'd figure she left. She was far enough away that even if someone did notice, she'd probably be dead by the time they came over to check.  
  
The water was maybe three inches under her shoulders when she heard splashing close by. It was discordant to the overall flow and pattern the ocean had. Someone was swimming towards her. Sure enough, as she twisted her neck around to spot the noisemaker, her eyes fell upon large, strong arms carving into the water. His pace was casual, but deliberately trying to outrun the next set of larger waves before they got to her.  
  
"Whew!" He exclaimed when he reached her. He remained a good several feet away. "Some cold water, huh?"  
  
She said nothing, offering a half-assed nod, and turned back towards the horizon.  
  
"The thing about the water being this cold is that you have to careful!" He continued, bellowing over the waves. "Especially, if you're swimming alone! Wouldn't want to get dragged out where no one could find you and no one could know!"  
  
What an idiotic coincidence, that's exactly what she wanted to do. She only marveled at the lucky chance before she concluded he must have somehow known. How, she wasn't sure. She never assumed body language to be an easy thing to decipher, let alone what her body language was doing to tip him off. But maybe some people just had the eye for it. She could think of at least one person. Well, two people. But she would not think of them during her battle in the water.  
  
"Personally, I think the ocean is sort of hypnotic!" The guy was closer. "Like, it draws people in. Don't you think?" Samantha did not answer, only glanced at him. Being a bit taller, the water didn't hit him as high. He slicked his dark chocolate hair back and swept moisture from his broad forehead. He had a chiseled chin and wide shoulders. His eyes, perhaps brown as well, she couldn't tell from so far away, were heavily lidded and shaped sharp. He had on a black T-shirt, the parts the water touched growing darker than the dry parts. He also wore a thin, silver chain with a heavy looking cross hanging from it, and Samantha wondered why he wouldn't take that thing off to jump into the ocean. Seemed destined to be lost.  
  
He was closer by the time she'd finished observing him. Still a yard or two away. He kept his eyes on hers, and at that point, the moment was so peculiar, she was willing to see where he was going with all this. The man appeared less than flustered by the lack of responses, and she could see he was searching for more words.

"But the ocean's like a drug," he continued. "The kind that takes away the pain just long enough that you think you won't need that high anymore." Samantha was glaring at this point. This man could not be saying the most perfect words unless someone told him to say those things. "But you are addicted, so you end up coming back, again and again until you take it too far. Until you can never leave." She turned her body around to face him fully.  
  
She didn't know who this man was, or who hired him, but she did not like this. It felt like he knew too much about Samantha, and that made her uncomfortable. The man didn't make anymore moves toward her, instead waiting to see if she would offer up a response. But she was stuck. He was saying exactly the right things to make Samantha believe she could trust him, but that was precisely the issue. If he was grasping at straws, it's very unlikely he would've brought up drug addiction in order to stop a suicide, unless he knew about that part of her life.  
  
Then it struck her. Like a freight train in her back. The water built up a huge wave and heaved it her. The man tried calling out to her, but she couldn't hear him through the thoughts. And he tried to reach for her, but as the wave overtook her completely, he was only shoved away.  
  
He fought the force of the water, blindly clawing through to find her, or some evidence of her. He trudged as hard a he could until he felt something sweep against his leg, not willing to dismiss it as seaweed. He took a breath and reached down, submerging himself. His fingers became wrapped in the unidentified thing and as his other hand mixed to investigate further, he found it to be hair.  
  
He hoped when he started dragging her from the sea, she would regain her ability to kick and swim, but she offered no help. He assumed she was unconscious. As he stepped into shallow water, pulling Samantha up to keep her supported and out of the water to breathe, he realized people had began to notice him carrying her out, and they clustered on the shoreline, another man dashing into the water to help him.  
  
"What happened?" The new man demanded.  
  
"She didn't see the wave, it took her down," the first man said. "I think she's unconcious." The other man nodded in agreement, showing his hand after he'd just cupped her head. Blood. She must have hit her skull on a rock as the water thrashed her around.  
  
A woman shouted from the beach, "I called an ambulance!"  
  
The first man asked for a towel before setting her head down in the sand. Her body was limp and looked lifeless laying there. He checked her breathing and found himself thankful he wasn't going to have to perform CPR. Her breaths weren't strong, but they were there, and that was better than he was expecting.  
  
The sirens could finally be heard and once the lights reached the beach parking lot, Samantha opened her eyes. The man from the water was still hovering over her, and she reached up with numb fingers to grip his fully soaked shirt. He stared at her, allowing her to touch the cross dangling from his neck. She turned it and examined it before tucking it behind his shirt and pulling him down closer with a grin.  
  
At first, he wasn't sure what to expect until she leaned up to level her curled lips with his ear. "Tell Sherlock I love him too."  
  
_(Unfortunately for us, she's sharp. She'll most likely figure this out, but whatever you do, deny my existence.)_  
  
The man, Reese Lawrence, stared down at the girl, in shock that she knew even though Sherlock was never even mentioned. In spite of the experience she just had, realizing Sherlock was behind her saving made her smile and laugh softly, out of relief. The look on her face made him want to go against his promise. He wanted to say, "I will." Instead he just said, "Who?"


End file.
